


tap, tap, tap

by SmallDickSteveRogers



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Horror, POV Second Person, just because you're not thinking about your just doesn't mean your junk isn't thinking about you, word processors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 01:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17376950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmallDickSteveRogers/pseuds/SmallDickSteveRogers
Summary: Just because you're not thinking about your junk doesn't mean your junk isn't thinking about you.





	tap, tap, tap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Allekha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha/gifts).



You hear it first, the sound from next room. The distinct pattern of keys tapping, pausing every few seconds only to resume again.

No one else is home. You're alone. No one has been in that junk room for months.

And yet. The tapping. Continues.

You follow the sound, your feet growing heavy with every step, as if you don't really want to see what's on the other side of that door. The floorboard creaks. The tapping stops. You hold your breath. You exhale when the sound resumes.

Slowly, you open the door. 

The room looks the same as the last time you were there, shoving a box of old magazines inside with your foot, intending to recycle them, but forgetting them to the void.

It's louder now, clearer. You push through the stacks of boxes, of forgotten clothes and holiday decorations. That chair you're always meaning to reupholster. At the back of the room sits a box, and you know that's where the sound is coming from.

Hands shaking, you open the box.

The air rushes from your lungs in a sigh of relief. It's only an old word processor, a relic from the 80s, something your parents owned before it ended up with you somehow. Before it ended up tossed aside.

You're about to turn away, when you hear the tap, tap tap again. The keys are moving of their own accord. Words are scattered across a wrinkled piece of paper.

You tear the paper away and read it. It's a story. It's for you.

You sit down on the floor, and you read.

The tapping goes on.


End file.
